The Face Poem by Dez Clark

Laying on the soft grass,
Watching the stars kiss the sky.
but the more I stare into the night,
The more I wonder why.

Why must the tragic shadows
Reach away from the brightened sun?
Even though the darkness is lonely,
Aren't he and she made one?

Then I turn my head,
To this retched willow tree
There's a rotten rope hanging down.
Will that be the end for me?

As I pondered these things,
I crawl closer to the tree
I dusted off a polished stone
It said his name was Lee.

I looked even more carefully,
Though now I knew he was deceased.
He wa pretty young, how could it be?
He was at the age of fourteen.

I glanced up at the rope,
It was ripped, torn in one place,
But all that I could see,
Was his torn, painful face.